No More Learning

"Did yer see him, Andy ? did yer see him ? ” said Sam, when
he had got fairly beyond the shelter of the barn, and fastened
the horse to a post. "O Lord, if it warn't as good as a meetin',
now, to see him a-dancin' and kickin' and swarin' at us. Didn't
I hear him? Swar away, ole fellow, says I to myself; will yer
have yer hoss now, or wait till you cotch him ? says I. Lord,
Andy, I think I can see him now. ” And Sam and Andy leaned
up against the barn, and laughed to their hearts' content.
"Yer oughter seen how mad he looked when I brought the
hoss up. Lord, he'd 'a' killed me if he durs' to; and there I
was a-standin' as innercent and as humble. »
" Lord, I seed you,” said Andy: “ain't you an old hoss, Sam! ”
»
(
»
(
>


## p. 14080 (#270) ##########################################

14080
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
c
“Rather spects I am,” said Sam: “did yer see Missis up-stars
at the winder? I seed her laughin'. ”
“I'm sure I was racin' so I didn't see nothin',” said Andy.
"Well, yer see,” said Sam, proceeding gravely to wash down
Haley's pony, « l'se 'quired what ye may call a habit o' bobserva-
tion, Andy. It's a very 'portant habit, Andy, and I 'commend
yer ter be cultivatin' it, now ye're young. Hist up that hind foot,
Andy. Yer see, Andy, it's bobservation makes all de difference
in niggers. Didn't I see which way the wind blew dis yer morn-
in'? Didn't I see what Missis wanted, though she never let on?
Dat ar's bobservation, Andy. I spects it's what you may call a
faculty. Faculties is different in different peoples, but cultivation
of 'em goes a great way. ”
"I guess if I hadn't helped your bobservation dis mornin', yer
wouldn't have seen your way so smart,” said Andy.
"Andy,” said Sam, you's a promisin' child, der ain't no
manner o doubt. I think lots of yer, Andy; and I don't feel
noways ashamed to take idees from you. We oughtenter over-
look nobody, Andy, 'cause the smartest on us gets tripped up
sometimes. And so, Andy, let's go up to the house now. I'll be
boun' Missis 'll give us an uncommon good bite dis yer time. ”
ELIZA'S FLIGHT
From (Uncle Tom's Cabin)
T
IL
is impossible to conceive of a human creature more wholly
desolate and forlorn than Eliza, when she turned her footsteps
from Uncle Tom's cabin.
Her husband's suffering and dangers, and the danger of her
child, all blended in her mind with a confused and stunning
sense of the risk she was running in leaving the only home
she had ever known, and cutting loose from the protection of a
friend whom she loved and revered. Then there was the parting
from every familiar object: the place where she had grown up,
the trees under which she had played, the groves where she
had walked many an evening in happier days, by the side of her
young husband, - everything, as it lay in the clear, frosty starlight,
seemed to speak reproachfully to her, and ask her whither she
could go from a home like that?


## p. 14081 (#271) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14081
But stronger than all was maternal love, wrought into a
paroxysm of frenzy by the near approach of a fearful danger.
Her boy was old enough to have walked by her side, and in an
indifferent case she would only have led him by the hand; but
now the bare thought of putting him out of her arms made her
shudder, and she strained him to her bosom with a convulsive
grasp as she went rapidly forward.
The frosty ground creaked beneath her feet, and she trembled
at the sound; every quaking leaf and fluttering shadow sent the
blood backward to her heart, and quickened her footsteps. She
wondered within herself at the strength that seemed to be come
upon her; for she felt the weight of her boy as if it had been a
feather, and every flutter of fear seemed to increase the super-
natural power that bore her on, while from her pale lips burst
forth in frequent ejaculations the prayer to a Friend above:
"Lord, help! Lord, save me! »
If it were your Harry, mother, or your Willie, that were going
to be torn from you by a brutal trader to-morrow morning,— if
you had seen the man, and heard that the papers were signed
and delivered, and you had only from twelve o'clock till morning
to make good your escape, — how fast could you walk? How
many miles could you make in those few brief hours, with the
darling at your bosom, the little sleepy head on your shoulder,
the small soft arms trustingly holding on to your neck ?
For the child slept. At first the novelty and alarm kept
him waking; but his mother so hurriedly repressed every breath
or sound, and so assured him that if he were only still she would
certainly save him, that he clung quietly round her neck, only
asking as he found himself sinking to sleep :-
"Mother, I don't need to keep awake, do I ? ”
“No, my darling: sleep if you want to. ”
“But, mother, if I do get asleep, you won't let him get
me ? »
“No! so may God help me! ” said his mother, with a paler
cheek, and a brighter light in her large dark eyes.
“You're sure, ain't you, mother ? ”
« Yes, sure! ” said the mother, in a voice that startled herself
— for it seemed to her to come from a spirit within, that was
no part of her; and the boy dropped his little weary head on
her shoulder and was soon asleep. How the touch of those warm
XXIV—881


## p. 14082 (#272) ##########################################

14082
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
arms, and gentle breathings that came in her neck, seemed to
add fire and spirit to her movements! It seemed to her as if
strength poured into her in electric streams from every gentle
touch and movement of the sleeping, confiding child. Sublime
is the dominion of the mind over the body, that for a time can
make flesh and nerve impregnable, and string the sinews like
steel, so that the weak become so mighty.
The boundaries of the farm, the grove, the wood-lot, passed
by her dizzily, as she walked on; and still she went, leaving one
familiar object after another, slacking not, pausing not, till red-
dening daylight found her many a long mile from all traces of
any familiar objects upon the open highway.
She had often been with her mistress to visit some connec-
tions in the little village of T—, not far from the Ohio River;
and knew the road well. To go thither, to escape across the
Ohio River, were the first hurried outlines of her plan of escape;
beyond that, she could only hope in God,
When horses and vehicles began to move along the highway,
with that alert perception peculiar to a state of excitement, and
which seems to be a sort of inspiration, she became aware that
her headlong pace and distracted air might bring on her remark
and suspicion. She therefore put the boy on the ground; and
adjusting her dress and bonnet, she walked on at as rapid a
pace as she thought consistent with the preservation of appear-
ances. In her little bundle she had provided a store of cakes and
apples, which she used as expedients for quickening the speed
of the child; rolling the apple some yards before them, when the
boy would run with all his might after it: and this ruse, often
repeated, carried them over many a half-inile.
After a while they came to a thick patch of woodland,
through which murmured a clear brook. As the child complained
of hunger and thirst, she climbed over the fence with him; and
sitting down behind a large rock which concealed them from the
road, she gave him a breakfast out of her little package. The
boy wondered and grieved that she could not eat; and when,
putting his arms round her neck, he tried to wedge some of his
cake into her mouth, it seemed to her that the rising in her
throat would choke her.
“No, no, Harry darling! mother can't eat till you are safe!
We must go on — on— till we come to the river! » And she


## p. 14083 (#273) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14083
hurried again into the road, and again constrained herself to
walk regularly and composedly forward.
She was many miles past any neighborhood where she was
personally known. If she should chance to meet any who knew
her, she reflected that the well-known kindness of the family
would be of itself a blind to suspicion, as making it an unlikely
supposition that she could be a fugitive. As she was also SO
white as not to be known as of colored lineage, without a critical
survey, and her child was white also, it was much easier for her
to pass on unsuspected.
On this presumption, she stopped at noon at a neat farm-
house, to rest herself and buy some dinner for her child and
self; for as the danger decreased with the distance, the super-
natural tension of the nervous system lessened, and she found
herself both weary and hungry.
The good woman, kindly and gossiping, seemed rather pleased
than otherwise with having somebody come in to talk with,
and accepted without examination Eliza's statement that she was
going on a little piece, to spend a week with her friends ”: all
which she hoped in her heart might prove strictly true.
An hour before sunset she entered the village of T, by
the Ohio River, weary and footsore but still strong in heart.
Her first glance was at the river, which lay, like Jordan, between
her and the Canaan of liberty on the other side.
It was now early spring, and the river was swollen and tur-
bulent; great cakes of floating ice were swinging heavily to and
fro in the turbid waters. Owing to the peculiar form of the shore
on the Kentucky side, the land bending far out into the water,
the ice had been lodged and detained in great quantities; and
the narrow channel which swept round the bend was full of ice,
piled one cake over another, thus forming a temporary barrier
to the descending ice, which lodged and formed a great undu-
lating raft, filling up the whole river and extending almost to the
Kentucky shore.
Eliza stood for a moment contemplating this unfavorable as.
pect of things, which she saw at once must prevent the usual
ferry-boat from running; and then turned into a small public
house on the bank to make a few inquiries.
The hostess, who was busy in various fizzing and stewing
operations over the fire, preparatory to the evening meal, stopped


## p. 14084 (#274) ##########################################

14084
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
(
W
with a fork in her hand, as Eliza's sweet and plaintive voice
arrested her.
“What is it? ” she said.
“Isn't there any ferry or boat that takes people over to B—
now? ” she said.
“No, indeed! ” said the woman: “the boats has stopped run-
ning. ”
Eliza's look of dismay and disappointment struck the woman,
and she said inquiringly:-
“Maybe you're wanting to get over ? Anybody sick? Ye
seem mighty anxious !
I've got a child that's very dangerous,” said Eliza. “I never
heard of it till last night, and I've walked quite a piece to-day,
in hopes to get to the ferry. ”
"Well, now, that's onlucky,” said the woman, whose motherly
sympathies were much aroused: "I'm re'lly consarned for ye.
Solomon! ” she called from the window towards a small back
building. A man in leather apron and very dirty hands appeared
at the door.
"I say, Sol,” said the woman, “is that ar man going to tote
them bar'ls over to-night ? »
“He said he should try, if 'twas anyway prudent," said the
man.
“There's a man a piece down here that's going over with
some truck this evening, if he durs' to; he'll be in here to sup-
per to-night, so you'd better set down and wait. That's a sweet
little fellow,” added the woman, offering him a cake.
But the child, wholly exhausted, cried with weariness.
« Poor fellow! he isn't used to walking, and I've hurried him
on so,” said Eliza.
»
"Well, take him into this room," said the woman, opening into
a small bedroom, where stood a comfortable bed. Eliza laid the
weary boy upon it, and held his hands in hers till he was fast
asleep. For her there was no rest. As a fire in her bones, the
thought of the pursuer urged her on; and she gazed with longing
eyes on the sullen, surging waters that lay between her and lib-
erty.
Here we must take our leave of her for the present, to follow
the course of her pursuers.
»


## p. 14085 (#275) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14085
AT two o'clock Sam and Andy brought the horses up to the
posts, apparently greatly refreshed and invigorated by the scam-
per of the morning.
Sam was there, new oiled from dinner, with an abundance of
zealous and ready officiousness. As Haley approached, he was
boasting in flourishing style to Andy of the evident and emi-
nent success of the operation, now that he had “farly come to
it. ”
“Your master, I s'pose, don't keep no dogs? ” said Haley
thoughtfully, as he prepared to mount.
« Heaps on 'em,” said Sam triumphantly: “thar's Bruno - he's
a roarer! and besides that, 'bout every nigger of us keeps a pup
of some natur or other. »
« Poh! ” said Haley,- and he said something else too, with
regard to the said dogs; at which Sam muttered:-
“I don't see no use cussin' on 'em, noway. ”
“But your master don't keep no dogs (I pretty much know
he don't) for trackin' out niggers ? »
Sam knew exactly what he meant, but he kept on a look of
earnest and desperate simplicity.
“Our dogs all smells round consid'able sharp. I spect they's
the kind, though they hain't never had no practice. They's far
dogs, though, at most anything, if you'd get 'em started. Here,
Bruno," he called, whistling to the lumbering Newfoundland, who
came pitching tumultuously toward them.
«You go hang! ” said Haley, getting up. «Come, tumble up
now. ”
Sam tumbled up accordingly, dexterously contriving to tickle
Andy as he did so; which occasioned Andy to split out into a
laugh, greatly to Haley's indignation, who made a cut at him
with his riding-whip.
“I 's 'stonished at yer, Andy,” said Sam with awful gravity;
“this yer's a seris bisness, Andy. Yer mustn't be a-makin' game.
a
This yer ain't no way to help Mas'r. ”
"I shall take the straight road to the river,” said Haley de-
cidedly, after they had come to the boundaries of the estate. «I
know the way of all of 'em: they makes tracks for the under-
ground. ”
«Sartin,” said Sam, "dat's de idee. Mas'r Haley hits de thing
right in de middle.
Now der's two roads to de river,- de dirt
road and der pike: which Mas'r mean to take? ”
c
(C


## p. 14086 (#276) ##########################################

14086
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
»
((
»
Andy looked up innocently at Sam, surprised at hearing this
new geographical fact; but instantly confirmed what he said by a
vehement reiteration.
“ 'Cause,” said Sam, “I'd rather be 'clined to 'magine that Lizy
'd take de dirt road, bein' it's the least traveled. ”
Haley, notwithstanding that he was a very old bird, and nat.
urally inclined to be suspicious of chaff, was rather brought up
by this view of the case.
“If yer warn't both on yer such cussed liars, now! ” he said
contemplatively, as he pondered a moment.
The pensive, reflective tone in which this was spoken appeared
to amuse Andy prodigiously, and he drew a little behind, and
shook so as apparently to run a great risk of falling off his horse;
while Sam's face was immovably composed into the most doleful
gravity.
“Course,” said Sam, “Mas'r can do as he'd ruther; go de
straight road, if Mas'r thinks best,- it's all one to us.
Now
when I study 'pon it, I think the straight road the best, derid-
edly. ”
“She would naturally go a lonesome way,” said Haley, think-
ing aloud, and not minding Sam's remark.
«Dar ain't no sayin',” said Sam: "gals is pecular: they never
does nothin' ye thinks they will; mose gen'lly the contrar. Gals
is nat'lly made contrary; and so if you thinks they've gone one
road, it is sartin you'd better go t'other, and then you'll be sure
to find 'em. Now my private 'pinion is, Lizy took der dirt road;
so I think we'd better take de straight one. ”
This profound generic view of the female sex did not seem
to dispose Haley particularly to the straight road; and he an-
nounced decidedly that he should go the other, and asked Sam
when they should come to it.
"A little piece ahead,” said Sam, giving a wink to Andy with
the eye which was on Andy's side of the head; and he added
gravely, “but I've studied on the matter, and I'm quite clar we
ought not to go dat ar way. I nebber been over it noway. It's
despit lonesome, and we might lose our way: whar we'd come to,
de Lord only knows.
“Nevertheless,” said Haley, "I shall go that way. ”
«Now I think on 't, I think I hearn 'em tell dat ar road
was all fenced up and down by der creek, and thar - ain't it,
Andy? ”
>
»


## p. 14087 (#277) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14087
Andy wasn't certain; he'd only “hearn tell about that road,
but never been over it. In short, he was strictly non-committal.
Haley, accustomed to strike the balance of probabilities be-
tween lies of greater or lesser magnitude, thought that it lay in
favor of the dirt road aforesaid. The mention of the thing he
thought he perceived was involuntary on Sam's part at first, and
his confused attempts to dissuade him he set down to a desperate
lying on second thoughts, as being unwilling to implicate Eliza.
When therefore Sam indicated the road, Haley plunged
briskly into it, followed by Sam and Andy.
Now the road, in fact, was an old one that had formerly
been a thoroughfare to the river, but abandoned for many years
after the laying of the new pike. It was open for about an
.
hour's ride, and after that it was cut across by various farms and
fences. Sam knew this fact perfectly well: indeed, the road had
been so long closed up that Andy had never heard of it. He
therefore rode along with an air of dutiful submission, only groan-
ing and vociferating occasionally that 'twas "desp't rough, and
bad for Jerry's foot. ”
“Now I jest give yer warning,” said Haley, “I know yer:
yer won't get me to turn off this yer road, with all yer fussin';
so you shet up! ”
"Mas'r will go his own way! ” said Sam with rueful submis-
sion; at the same time winking most portentously to Andy,
whose delight was now very near the explosive point.
Sam was in wonderful spirits; professed to keep a very brisk
lookout: at one time exclaiming that he saw "a gal's bonnet
on the top of some distant eminence, or calling to Andy «if
that thar wasn't Lizy down in the hollow"; always making these
exclamations in some rough or craggy part of the road, where
the sudden quickening of speed was a special inconvenience to
all parties concerned, and thus keeping Haley in a state of con-
stant commotion.
After riding about an hour in this way, the whole party
made a precipitate and tumultuous descent into a barnyard be-
longing to a large farming establishment. Not a soul was in
sight, all the hands being employed in the fields; but as the
barn stood conspicuously and plainly square across the road, it
was evident that their journey in that direction had reached a
decided finale.


## p. 14088 (#278) ##########################################

14088
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
C
Warn't dat ar what I telled Mas'r? ” said Sam, with an air
of injured innocence. «How does strange gentlemen spect to
know more about a country dan de natives born and raised ? ”
“You rascal! ” said Haley, "you knew all about this. ”
"Didn't I tell yer I know'd, and yer wouldn't believe me? I
telled Mas'r 'twas all shet up, and fenced up, and I didn't spect
we could get through: Andy heard me. ”
It was all too true to be disputed, and the unlucky man had
to pocket his wrath with the best grace he was able; and all
three faced to the right about, and took up their line of march
for the highway.
In consequence of all the various delays, it was about three-
quarters of an hour after Eliza had laid her child to sleep in
the village tavern that the party came riding into the same place.
Eliza was standing by the window, looking out in another di-
rection, when Sam's quick eye caught a glimpse of her. Haley
and Andy were two yards behind. At this crisis Sam contrived
to have his hat blown off, and uttered a loud and characteristic
ejaculation, which startled her at once; she drew suddenly back:
the whole train swept by the window round to the front door.
A thousand lives seemed to be concentrated in that one
moment to Eliza. Her room opened by a side door to the river.
She caught her child, and sprang down the steps towards it. The
trader caught a full glimpse of her, just as she was disappearing
down the bank; and throwing himself from his horse, and calling
loudly on Sam and Andy, he was after her like a hound after
a deer. In that dizzy moment her feet to her scarce seemed to
touch the ground, and a moment brought her to the water's edge.
Right on behind they came; and nerved with strength such as
God gives only to the desperate, with one wild cry and flying leap
she vaulted sheer over the turbid current by the shore on to
the raft of ice beyond. It was a desperate leap,- impossible to
anything but madness and despair; and Haley, Sam, and Andy
instinctively cried out, and lifted up their hands as she did it.
The huge green fragment of ice on which she alighted, pitched
and creaked as her weight came on it; but she stayed there
not a moment.
With wild cries and desperate energy she leaped
to another and still another cake; stumbling — leaping -- slipping
- springing upwards again! Her shoes were gone, her stockings
cut from her feet, while blood marked every step; but she saw


## p. 14089 (#279) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14089
nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, as in a dream, she saw the Ohio
side, and a man helping her up the bank.
“Yer a brave gal, now, whoever ye are! ” said the man with
an oath.
Eliza recognized the voice and face of a man who owned a
farm not far from her old home.
«O Mr. Symmes!
- do save
me — do hide me! ”
said Eliza.
“Why, what's this? ” said the man. «Why, if 't ain't Shelby's
save
me
gal! »
>
((
>>
"My child! – this boy! - he'd sold him! There is his Mas'r, "
said she, pointing to the Kentucky shore. “O Mr. Symmes,
you've got a little boy! ”
" So I have,” said the man, as he roughly but kindly drew
her up the steep bank. “Besides, you're a right brave gal. I
like grit wherever I see it. ”
When they had gained the top of the bank, the man paused.
“I'd be glad to do something for ye,” said he; “but then there's
nowhar I could take ye. The best I can do is to tell ye to go
thar,” said he, pointing to a large white house which stood by
itself, off the main street of the village. “Go thar: they're kind
folks. Thar's no kind of danger but they'll help you: they're up
to all that sort o' thing. ”
« The Lord bless you! ” said Eliza earnestly.
«
“No 'casion, no 'casion in the world," said the man.
( What
I've done's of no 'count. ”
"And oh, surely, sir, you won't tell any one! ”
"Go to thunder, gal! What do you take a feller for ? In
course not,” said the man. “Come, now, go along like a likely,
sensible gal, as you are. You've arnt your liberty; and you shall
have it, for all me. ”
The woman folded her child to her bosom, and walked firmly
and swiftly away. The man stood and looked after her. .
“Shelby, now, mebbe won't think this yer the most neighborly
thing in the world; but what's a feller to do? If he catches one
of my gals in the same fix, he's welcome to pay back. Some-
how I never could see no kind o’critter a-strivin' and pantin',
and tryin' to cl’ar theirselves, with the dogs arter 'em, and go
agin 'em. Besides, I don't see no kind o' 'casion for me to be
hunter and catcher for other folks, neither. ”
»


## p. 14090 (#280) ##########################################

14090
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
TOPSY
From (Uncle Tom's Cabin)
O
NE morning while Miss Ophelia was busy in some of her
domestic cares, St. Clare's voice was heard, calling her at
the foot of the stairs.
«Come down here, cousin: I've something to show you. ”
«What is it ? ” said Miss Ophelia, coming down with her sew-
ing in her hand.
“I've made a purchase for your department: see here,” said
St. Clare; and with the word he pulled along a little negro girl
about eight or nine years of age.
She was one of the blackest of her race; and her round, shin-
ing eyes, glittering as glass beads, moved with quick and restless
glances over everything in the room. Her mouth, half open
with astonishment at the wonders of the new Mas'r's parlor, dis-
played a white and brilliant set of teeth. Her woolly hair was
braided in sundry little tails, which stuck out in every direction.
The expression of her face was an odd mixture of shrewdness
and cunning, over which was oddly drawn, like a kind of veil, an
expression of the most doleful gravity and solemnity.
She was
dressed in a single filthy, ragged garment, made of bagging; and
stood with her hands demurely folded before her. Altogether,
there was something odd and goblin-like about her appearance, -
something, as Miss Ophelia afterwards said, “so heathenish,” as
to inspire that good lady with utter dismay; and turning to St.
Clare, she said: -
“Augustine, what in the world have you brought that thing
here for ? »
“For you to educate, to be sure, and train in the way she
should go. I thought she was rather a funny specimen in the
Jim Crow line. Here, Topsy,” he added, giving a whistle, as a
man would call the attention of a dog, "give us a song, now, and
show us some of your dancing. ”
The black, glassy eyes glittered with a kind of wicked droll-
ery, and the thing struck up in a clear shrill voice an odd negro
melody, to which she kept time with her hands and feet, spin-
ning round, clapping her hands, knocking her knees together, in
a wild, fantastic sort of time, and producing in her throat all
those odd guttural sounds which distinguish the native music of


## p. 14091 (#281) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14091
her race; and finally, turning a summerset or two, and giving a
prolonged closing note, as odd and unearthly as that of a steam-
whistle, she came suddenly down on the carpet, and stood with
her hands folded, and a most sanctimonious expression of meek-
ness and solemnity over her face, only broken by the cunning
glances which she shot askance from the corners of her eyes.
Miss Ophelia stood silent; perfectly paralyzed with amaze-
ment.
St. Clare, like a mischievous fellow as he was, appeared to
enjoy her astonishment; and addressing the child again, said:
“Topsy, this is your new mistress. I'm going to give you up
to her; see now that you behave yourself. ”
“Yes, Mas'r,” said Topsy, with sanctimonious gravity, her
wicked eyes twinkling as she spoke.
“You're going to be good, Topsy, you understand,” said St.
Clare.
“Oh, yes, Masʼr," said Topsy, with another twinkle, her hands
still devoutly folded.
“Now, Augustine, what upon earth is this for ? ” said Miss
Ophelia. «Your house is so full of these little plagues now, that
a body can't set down their foot without treading on 'em. I get
up in the morning, and find one asleep behind the door, and see
one black head poking out from under the table, one lying on
the door-mat; and they are mopping and mowing and grinning
between all the railings, and tumbling over the kitchen floor!
What on earth did you want to bring this one for ? »
“For you to educate, didn't I tell you? You're always preach-
ing about educating. I thought I would make you a present
of a fresh-caught specimen, and let you try your hand on her,
and bring her up in the way she should go. ”
"I don't want her, I am sure: I have more to do with 'em
now than I want to. ”
«That's you Christians, all over! You'll get up a society, and
get some poor missionary to spend all his days among just such
heathen; but let me see one of you that would take one into
your house with you, and take the labor of their conversion on
yourselves! No: when it comes to that, they are dirty and dis-
agreeable, and it's too much care, and so on.
"Augustine, you know I didn't think of it in that light,”
said Miss Ophelia, evidently softening. "Well, it might be a real


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14092
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
((
missionary work,” said she, looking rather more favorably on the
child.
St. Clare had touched the right string. Miss Ophelia's con-
scientiousness was ever on the alert.
But,” she added, "I really didn't see the need of buying this
one: there are enough now in your house to take all my time
and skill. ”
"Well, then, cousin,” said St. Clare, drawing her aside, «I
ought to beg your pardon for my good-for-nothing speeches.
You are so good, after all, that there's no sense in them. Why,
the fact is, this concern belonged to a couple of drunken creat-
ures that keep a low restaurant that I have to pass by every day;
and I was tired of hearing her screaming, and them beating and
swearing at her. She looked bright and funny too, as if some-
thing might be made of her; so I bought her, and I'll give her
to you. Try now, and give her a good orthodox New England
bringing-up, and see what it'll make of her. You know I haven't
any gift that way; but I'd like you to try. ”
“Well, I'll do what I can,” said Miss Ophelia; and she
approached her new subject very much as a person might be
supposed to approach a black spider, supposing them to have
benevolent designs toward it.
«She's dreadfully dirty, and half naked,” she said.
"Well, take her down-stairs, and make some of them clean
and clothe her up. ”
Miss Ophelia carried her to the kitchen regions.
« Don't see what Mas’r St. Clare wants of 'nother nigger! ”
said Dinah, surveying the new arrival with no friendly air.
“Won't have her round under my feet, I know! ”
« Pah! ” said Rosa and Jane, with supreme disgust: let her
keep out of our way! What in the world Mas'r wanted another
of these low niggers for, I can't see! ”
“You go 'long! No more nigger dan you be, Miss Rosa,”
said Dinah, who felt this last remark a reflection on herself.
« You seem to tink yourself white folks. You ain't nerry one,
black nor white. I'd like to be one or turrer. ”
Miss Ophelia saw that there was nobody in the camp that
would undertake to oversee the cleansing and dressing of the new
arrival; and so she was forced to do it herself, with some very
ungracious and reluctant assistance from Jane.
>>>


## p. 14093 (#283) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14093
It is not for ears polite to hear the particulars of the
first toilet of a neglected, abused child. In fact, in this world,
multitudes 'must live and die in a state that it would be too
great a shock to the nerves of their fellow-mortals even to hear
described.
Miss Ophelia had a good, strong, practical deal of resolution:
and she went through all the disgusting details with heroic thor-
oughness, though it must be confessed, with no very gracious
air; for endurance was the utmost to which her principles could
bring her. When she saw, on the back and shoulders of the
child, great welts and calloused spots, ineffaceable marks of the
system under which she had grown up thus far, her heart became
pitiful within her.
“ «See there! ” said Jane, pointing to the marks," don't that
show she's a limb ? We'll have fine works with her, I reckon. I
hate these nigger young-uns! so disgusting! I wonder that Mas'r
would buy her! ”
The “young-un ” alluded to heard all these comments with
the subdued and doleful air which seemed habitual to her; only
scanning, with a keen and furtive glance of her flickering eyes,
the ornaments which Jane wore in her ears. When arrayed at
last in a suit of decent and whole clothing, her hair cropped
short to her head, Miss Ophelia, with some satisfaction, said she
looked more Christian-like than she did ; and in her own mind
began to mature some plans for her instruction.
Sitting down before her, she began to question her.
“How old are you, Topsy ? ”
« Dunno, Missis,” said the image, with a grin that showed all
her teeth.
« Don't know how old you are ? Didn't anybody ever tell
you? Who was your mother ? ”
“Never had none! ” said the child with another grin.
"Never had any mother ? What do you mean? Where were
»
you born ? »
“Never was born! ” persisted Topsy, with another grin, that
looked so goblin-like that if Miss Ophelia had been at all nerv-
ous, she might have fancied that she had got hold of some
sooty gnome from the land of Diablerie; but Miss Ophelia was
not nervous, but plain and business-like, and she said with some
sternness:


## p. 14094 (#284) ##########################################

14094
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
with you.
(
»
>>
»
(C
« You mustn't answer me in that way, child. I'm not playing
Tell me where you were born, and who your father
and mother were. ”
“Never was born,” reiterated the creature, more emphatically;
“never had no father nor mother, nor nothin'. I was raised by
a speculator, with lots of others. Old Aunt Sue used to take
car' on us. ”
The child was evidently sincere; and Jane, breaking into a
short laugh, said: -
“ Laws, Missis, there's heaps of 'em. Speculators buys 'em up
cheap, when they's little, and gets 'em raised for market. ”
“How long have you lived with your master and mistress ? »
"Dunno, Missis. ”
"Is it a year, or more, or less ?
“Dunno, Missis. "
« "Laws, Missis, those low negroes — they can't tell: they don't
know anything about time,” said Jane; "they don't know what
a year is; they don't know their own ages. '
“ Have you ever heard anything about God, Topsy ? ”
The child looked bewildered, but grinned as usual.
“Do you know who made you ? ”
“Nobody, as I knows on,” said the child with a short laugh.
The idea appeared to amuse her considerably; for her eyes
twinkled, and she added:
"I spect I growed. Don't think nobody never made me. ”
"Do you know how to sew ? ” said Miss Ophelia, who thought
she would turn her inquiries to something more tangible.
“No, Missis. ”
“What can you do? what did you do for your master and
mistress ? »
“Fetch water, and wash dishes, and rub knives, and wait on
folks. ”
« Were they good to you? ”
"Spect they was," said the child, scanning Miss Ophelia cun-
ningly.
Miss Ophelia rose from this encouraging colloquy; St. Clare
was leaning over the back of her chair.
« You find virgin soil there, cousin: put in your own ideas;
you won't find many to pull up. ”
»
(c


## p. 14095 (#285) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14095
On one occasion, Miss Ophelia found Topsy with her very
best scarlet India Canton crape shawl wound around her head for
a turban, going on with her rehearsals before the glass in great
style: Miss Ophelia having, with carelessness most unheard-of in
her, left the key for once in her drawer.
"Topsy! ” she would say, when at the end of all patience,
« what does make you act so ? ”
"Dunno, Missis: I spects 'cause I's so wicked! ”
« I don't know anything what I shall do with you, Topsy. ”
« Law, Missis, you must whip me; my old Missis allers
whipped me. I ain't used to workin' unless I gets whipped. ”
“Why, Topsy, I don't want to whip you. You can do well,
if you've a mind to: what is the reason you won't ? ”
“Law, Missis, I's used to whippin': I spects it's good for
me. »
Miss Ophelia tried the recipe, and Topsy invariably made a
terrible commotion, screaming, groaning, and imploring; though
half an hour afterwards, when roosted on some projection of the
balcony, and surrounded by a flock of admiring young-uns," she
would express the utmost contempt of the whole affair.
« Law, Miss Feely whip! Wouldn't kill a skeeter, her whip-
pin's. Oughter see how old Mas'r made de flesh fly: old Mas'r
know'd how !
Topsy always made great capital of her own sins and enor-
mities, evidently considering them as something peculiarly distin-
guishing
"Law, you niggers,” she would say, to some of her auditors,
« does you know you's all sinners? Well, you is, - everybody is.
White folks is sinners too,- Miss Feely says so: but I spects nig-
,
gers is the biggest ones; but lor! ye ain't any on ye up to me.
I's so awful wicked there can't nobody do nothin' with me. I
used to keep old Missis a-swarin' at me half de time. I spects
I'se de wickedest crittur in de world;” and Topsy would cut a
summerset, and come up brisk and shining on to a higher perch,
and evidently plume herself on the distinction.


## p. 14096 (#286) ##########################################

14096
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
AARON BURR AND MARY
From The Minister's Wooing)
W
HEN, with his peculiarly engaging smile, he [Burr] offered
his arm, she felt a little of the flutter natural to a mod-
est young person unexpectedly honored with the notice
of one of the great ones of the earth, whom it is seldom the lot
of humble individuals to know except by distant report.
But although Mary was a blushing and sensitive person, she
was not what is commonly called a diffident girl: her nerves had
that healthy, steady poise which gave her presence of mind in
the most unwonted circumstances,
The first few sentences addressed to her by her new compan-
ion were in a tone and style altogether different from any in
which she had ever been approached, - different from the dash-
ing frankness of her sailor lover, and from the rustic gallantry
of her other admirers.
That indescribable mixture of ease and deference, guided by
refined tact, which shows the practiced, high-bred man of the
world, made its impression on her immediately, as a breeze on
the cords of a wind-harp. She felt herself pleasantly swayed and
breathed upon; it was as if an atmosphere were around her in
which she felt a perfect ease and freedom, an assurance that her
lightest word might launch forth safely, as a tiny boat, on the
smooth, glassy mirror of her listener's pleased attention.
"I came to Newport only on a visit of business,” he said,
I
after a few moments of introductory conversation. « I was not
prepared for its many attractions. ”
“Newport has a great deal of beautiful scenery,” said Mary.
“I have heard that it was celebrated for the beauty of its
scenery, and of its ladies," he answered; but,” he added, with
a quick flash of his dark eye, "I never realized the fact before. ”
The glance of the eye pointed and limited the compliment,
and at the same time there was a wary shrewdness in it: he was
measuring how deep his shaft had sunk, as he always instinct-
ively measured the person he talked with.
Mary had been told of her beauty since her childhood,
notwithstanding her mother had essayed all that transparent,
respectable hoaxing by which discreet mothers endeavor to blind
their daughters to the real facts of such cases: but in her own
calm, balanced mind, she had accepted what she was so often
(


## p. 14097 (#287) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14097
told, as a quiet verity; and therefore she neither fluttered nor
,
blushed on this occasion, but regarded the speaker with a pleased
attention, as one who was saying obliging things.
“Cool!